


they wore the same armour

by orphan_account



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M, Malaysia 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 14:40:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3654168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>every greek hero has their fatal flaw.</p>
            </blockquote>





	they wore the same armour

The small celebrating crowd of people in red only adds to make the podium seem like a goddamn funeral. Everything is bitter, his smile, the champagne, second place. He looks over at Nico’s direction only once. They don’t congratulate each other, and this time it has nothing to do with avoiding post-race conflict. Vettel is between them, and Lewis doesn’t like how this is now a possibility, hates the implications of it. The Ferrari man smiles widely, eyes tearing up a little, and Lewis feels robbed enough and sour enough that he has to hold the urge to roll his eyes for a couple of seconds. He hadn’t built himself to be a good loser, no matter how much he’d improved at pretending to be one on the rare occasions he needed it.

He can’t really see Nico, not while they play Germany’s national anthem, but he somehow knows him well enough, has seen this enough times to be aware that his body is stiff and he has a tight smile on his face. Must hurt to hear that and have it not being played for him, Lewis thinks.

They get their trophies and pop their bottles, bubbly-sparkly liquid raining down on them, and Lewis craves water all of a sudden, craves washing the whole weekend off and away of his body and skip this part onto the next race. Vettel seems prudent enough to know Lewis doesn’t feel like playing good rival, because he pats him on the shoulder but mostly leaves him to stand there, cleaning his face with a white towel that might as well have been a shield. Nico, ever the more civil one, goes over to him and downs the content of his bottle above Sebastian’s head. Lewis would take a moment to think about the passive-aggressiveness of it all, the Nico-Sebastian dynamic; but he lately seems to end up being an injured party at their back-and-forths.

He pushes himself to go through it, interviews, congratulating his team (because there’s no use now, not now, to confront them about their mistakes; to go over missed opportunities and miscalculations and wrong strategies. Later, yes, they’d have words.), the way back to his hotel.

As soon as he steps out of the elevator, finally alone, he sees a shadow of someone leaning against the wall at the end of the hallway.

“Hey,” Nico says, standing straight and unfolding his arms, shoving his hands into the pockets of his Mercedes white pants. “I got here five minutes ago.”

“Good for you.” Lewis snaps, but winces right away. He hadn’t meant to, specially not today, not when he barely even competed directly against Nico.

He doesn’t apologize, but when he slides his keycard on the locker and steps inside his room, he holds the door open for Nico to step inside, too. He silently hopes he isn’t there to give him some fake sense of comfort, some speech about how this is only race two and they still dominate the table.

“There’s, uh, water or whatever. You know, you have the same room, help yourself.” Lewis mumbles, just to for the lack of things to say. His back is turned to Nico and he makes no ceremony of stripping off his clothes, disgusted at the way they feel glued to his skin due to the mix of sweet alcohol and sweat. He throws his shirt on a chair carelessly, unlike the golden chain hangs on his neck that he takes off carefully, placing it neatly on the bedside table. He makes a quick work of toeing off his shoes and socks and kicking his pants off as they pool around his ankles, and Nico is so quiet he almost takes off his boxers, too, before remembering he’s there. Lewis makes his way to the bathroom without another word, closing the door behind him but not locking it.

When he finally takes off his only remaining piece of clothing and steps inside the shower stall, the exhaustion catches up to him. He considers taking a cold shower to cool off the heat prickling his skin, but his muscles are sore and aching, so he turns on the hot water, letting it slide down his head and back, groaning at the sensation. The heat soon fogs up the glass walls around him and ease the tightness of his articulations a bit as he stands there, moving the least possible.

He feels rather than hear the door of the stall opening, the sound of the water surely must’ve muffled any sound Nico made while sneaking into the bathroom, although Lewis is not particularly surprised with this development.

“Is your shower broken?” Lewis mumbles weakly. Nico ignores the half-assed protest, closing the door behind him and approaching Lewis.

The hands on his shoulders are careful and tentative, and Lewis steps from under the flow of water to give Nico space, but Nico shakes his head, gently pushing Lewis back to his previous position. He hears the sound of a bottle being popped open, and he’s about to protest that he’s too tired, but Nico’s hands find his shoulders again. The liquid soap smells like all hotel soap smells, which Lewis doesn’t specifically like, but can’t bring himself to care. Not when it’s Nico, rubbing soothing circles on his shoulders, the nape of his neck, down his back.

It’s kind of humiliating, really, that Nico is barely putting any strength in his touch, but Lewis can’t help but groan, yet again stepping away from under the shower and closer to Nico on instinct. Nico’s slightly calloused hands are thoroughly, washing his skin at the same time he massages some of the worst knots on Lewis’ back. He massages between his shoulder blades with both thumbs, tracing down the lines of ink until he reaches the bottom of his spine; applying pressure and rubbing patterns on the spot. Lewis’ head spins and falls on Nico’s shoulder as he lets out a pathetic little sob, a sharp jolt of pain preceding the slow sense of relief. Nico whispers a soft apology in his ear, and kisses a spot below it.

His back is almost leaning on Nico’s chest anyway, but Nico warps one arm around Lewis waist and presses them together.

“Shh, relax,” Nico coaxes him like he’s a wounded animal, and Lewis almost resents it. “Let me.”

And Lewis does, because he feels too tired to fight. Later, he’d worry about being weak, but now – He nods, letting himself lean completely in Nico’s embrace. He holds him with one arm, and uses his free hand to trace the lines of Lewis abs lazily, and travelling up Lewis’ chest until he reaches his nipples, and Lewis feels his cock twitching, and God, he can’t believe he’s half hard already, can’t believe he barely even noticed it happening.

Nico’s circles Lewis’ nipples alternately between his fingers, and Lewis wants to tell him to quit the teasing, please, he’s not sure he can make it that far, but ultimately doesn’t beg. Not exactly.

“It’s okay,” He breathes out, hoping all Nico needs is loud reassuring. Turns out it is, because his lips find Lewis’ neck and he licks and kisses and bites softly as his hand slides down, fingers wrapping loosely around Lewis’ cock. Lewis moans at the sensation, wanting to buck up his hips into Nico’s fist, but the latter tightens his hold around his waist and stops him from moving much. Lewis brings one of his own hands to wrap around Nico’s, but he bats Lewis’ hand away, and somehow he feels compelled to obey. _‘Let me’_ , Nico had asked, so Lewis was going to.  

It doesn’t take long for Nico to stroke him to full hardness, until Lewis is leaking pre come, even if his hold on Lewis cock is not as tight as he wants, nor his pace is as fast as he needs, he's already breathing hard with want. As encouragement, he roll his hips, the movement grinding down on Nico, who's already as hard as him, and his cock slides between Lewis’ cheeks, making Nico let out an almost inaudible moan. Pretentious, composed asshole, he is.

“Wanna feel you.” Lewis moans, and he can only hope Nico understands, not knowing how to ask for it. At times like this, he doesn’t curse Nico knowing him better than most people, doesn’t curse how familiarized they are with each other’s bodies, doesn’t resent the years and years of this not-relationship, this _something_ –

Nico turns him around in his arms and pushes Lewis against the fogged up glass wall, one hand travelling down to cup his ass, the other cupping his face, and… this part. This part always feels different, apart from tired handjobs, or blowjobs in bathrooms near the paddock, or quick fucks in different cities and hotels that feel the same as the last one. This part, when Nico breathes into his mouth and licks his bottom lip, when they kiss hard and lick into each other’s mouths until they can’t breathe, this is what got them into this in the first place, this mess of a connection that entangles every aspect of their lives together, that borders codependency, and yet. Yet, it’s what keeps them in this cycle in the first place.

When Nico slides a hand between their bodies and takes both of them in the same hold, Lewis knows neither will last long, nor they particularly want to. Their cocks slide together in Nico’s grip, and Lewis wraps one arm around his shoulders and the other grips his hip, to support himself, to bring Nico closer, to seek more friction, he doesn’t care anymore. Nico tucks his head between Lewis’ neck and shoulder, his breath uneven and the pace of his strokes fastening and Lewis moans, no use for holding back as Nico’s name finds its way out of his mouth. It’s almost like a switch, because Nico bites down on his shoulder as he comes, and Lewis follow him a heartbeat later, throwing his head back with a quiet whimper, body almost giving out to heat and exhaustion and the feeling of Nico pressed against him.

Nico kisses his shoulder at the spot he’d bitten as an apology, but Lewis is beyond minding it at this point. He has to admit it was a pretty good idea to do that on the shower, when they are one step and no effort away of cleaning themselves up.

Later, after Lewis tosses Nico one of the brand new boxers the brings on trips, both of them deciding that wearing anything but that was pointless, he drags Nico by the hand until he's under the covers with him, then pushes him until he’s lying on his side.

What happened moments before, that was for Lewis mostly, but this. He knows Nico needs it, so this is for him. He turns and moves until he’s pressed flush against Nico, his back against Lewis’ chest, knees behind needs and feet tangled together, holding him in a way that leaves not one place they’re not touching. He kisses the nape of Nico's neck, his wet hair tickling Lewis’ nose, and Nico mumbles something that sounds like a goodnight, his voice already heavy with sleep. Lewis lets himself drift off, too.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i blame my hate for ferrari, lewis and nico's barely concealed bitch faces behind fake smiles and greek gays poetry, or something along those lines.


End file.
